


Never Too Late

by M_A_Salter



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Episode: s02e12 Unnatural Habits, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_A_Salter/pseuds/M_A_Salter
Summary: Minor episode modification. Set after the action of 2.12, “Unnatural Habits.” Instead of lurking in the kitchen in order to thwart Jack’s less-than-noble plans, Aunt P goes to bed at a reasonable hour.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 112





	Never Too Late

When Miss Phryne Fisher left the City South police station, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was comforting his distraught ex-wife. Phryne left in part because she couldn’t bear the anguished look on his face. And she left because she didn’t want to see him hold another woman with that kind of familiar tenderness. And because she knew deep down that she had no right to interfere should he want to comfort her in any way he saw fit.

She left in a fog, thoughts circling around in her mind about freedom and commitment, friendship and love, and what, if anything, she had a right to ask of Jack Robinson. The thoughts kept circling because deep down she feared that after all this time she had no claims on him at all, that in her zeal to preserve her own independence she had perhaps begun to push him away.

She arrived safely home, but had no memory of the trip. All she wanted to do was sit alone in the parlor with a drink. It was, after all, the evening after she and Jack had closed a case; it was customary to have a night cap. But when she arrived home the parlor was occupied: Dot and her Aunt Prudence were fawning over Mary’s new-born son.

“Are they always this red?” Phryne said, unable to keep the fatigue out of her voice.

“Always,” Prudence said. “But the doctor says this one is as stong as an ox! Aren’t you, my little man?” She cooed and wagged a finger at the sleeping infant.

“Wonderful. Now all we need to do is find a placement for Mary,” said Phryne.

Prudence looked up at her incredulously, “She already has a placement–with me…once she’s completely recovered, of course.”

“Doing what?”

“She can assist cook. I’ve no doubt that her soup will come up to scratch once she’s had a bit of practice.”

Phryne felt the fog lifting slightly, and she smiled at this. “And her flummery?”

“Quite good, actually,” Prudence said.

Dot, sensing that Phryne was tired, said, “It’s alright Mrs. Stanley, I can take over.”

“Good, thank you Dot,” Phryne said, with relief. Dot could settle Aunt P, Mary, and the baby upstairs, and Phryne could change into something more comfortable and have her night cap in peace. She changed into a dressing-gown and sat on the settee with whiskey in her hand, letting the breeze from the open window cool her face as she stared blankly ahead. 

Some time later, she wasn’t sure how long, when all the other upstairs doors had closed--and it seemed Aunt P had finally, truly, left the baby to Dot’s care--she went downstairs to do her usual last check of the house before going to bed. Everything was as it should be, so she turned off the lights in the parlor and began to make her way upstairs.

There was a gentle rapping on the stained glass beside the front door, and she tasted adrenaline. She opened the door and Jack slipped past her into the hall.

“I thought you were with Rosie,” Phryne said.

He nodded, “I was.” He looked around the corner into the dining room and said, “Is it too late?”

“Never,” she said. She walked over to stand in front of him as he worked the brim of his hat between his thumb and fingers.

“I’ve never seen her like that before. She was in shock; she just needed some company.”

“She needed you, Jack Robinson. The man who always does the right thing. The noble thing.”

He swallowed and took a half step closer, holding her gaze, “not always, Miss Fisher.”

As Jack hovered there, leaning slightly towards her, Phryne had a visceral memory of their kiss in Anatole’s café, perhaps the only thing in the world which could have truly distracted her from Dubois. The memory was no doubt triggered by her racing heart. That day it was already racing with anxiety, and then had skipped a beat in surprise, which quickly turned to desire. She flushed at the memory, and time seemed to stretch unnaturally.

Jack took another little step closer and the memory was drowned by a kind of diffuse buzzing as all her senses narrowed to this moment.

In the split second before his lips met hers she returned to awareness for a moment to notice the cedar smell of his shaving soap, and then he was kissing her. It was so slow and gentle, almost chaste. He pulled back, leaving her lips just parted in anticipation. She had closed her eyes, without realizing it or meaning to, but as she felt him pull away she opened them again, directly into his gaze. He whispered, “Phryne,” so low she could barely hear it.

She closed the tiny distance between them again and kissed him deeply. Now both his hands were cradling her head. She had the vaguest awareness that his hat had dropped to their feet. Her hands were on his chest, and she slowly slid them up to his shoulders, then she traced the curve of his throat lightly with the fingers of one hand. As her fingers touched the smooth skin of his neck—and the detective in her began to suspect he had stopped at home to shave—he moaned ever so slightly into her mouth; it was too deep to be heard, but she could feel the vibration in his jaw.

He broke the kiss again, and gave her a very serious, almost pained expression. She reached around to run her fingers over the impossibly soft hair at the nape of his neck, and slowly grinned back at him. “Don’t worry, Jack. As I said, it’s never too late.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments. I live for comments. Thank you in advance for your comments.


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